Coming Home
by elixia13
Summary: Two years after the Consortium's fall, Mulder returns to the only home he has. Slight Mulder/Skinner slash.


Coming Home

Rating: R--language, themes  
Category: SA  
Keywords: SLASH M/SK, hints of L/B, Character Death(not one of the guys)  
Spoilers: general myth-arc, SR-819  
Summary: Two years after the Consortium's fall, Mulder returns to the only home he has.

Note: This is not a happy story. Please don't get mad at me if it depresses you. Also, sorry, no smut.  
WARNING!! This story contains affection between two men. Don't read this if that bothers you.

When the end came, it came quickly.

The Day came and went with most of the Earth's inhabitants having no clue of its passing. There was a malfunction in a satellite, an explosion in space, they were told. Other incidents were reported around the world--flash fires, industrial accidents. None of these events will be connected, at least not in the foreseeable future.

The only reason I, an Assistant Director of the FBI, know of these connections is my involvement with some men at the heart of the action. The smoking man, Alex Krycek, and last but certainly not least, Fox Mulder. Even I don't know what truly transpired in those few days when all of our fates hung in the balance. All I know is that the Consortium fell and the aliens apparently fled or left. The skies are silent and so is the earth.

The panic of the Consortium's falling caused a lot of old rats to come running out of their holes, and they wreaked most of the damage. They took down the old guard. They tore apart whatever they could, and in the mess, Scully was lost. It wasn't a conspiracy or a chip or the aliens. It was a random bullet in her head during a clean-up operation, and it was very fast.

After that, Mulder disappeared for a while. He just left, vanished. His work was done, but so was his partnership. I know what it's like for life to lose all meaning, and I saw that look in his eyes the last time we spoke. He was in the hallway of the Hoover, walking away from me. He was always walking away from me.

The next couple of years went by quickly. I did what I could to help clean up the Bureau in the wake of the Consortium's fall, and then I retired. There was little else to do. I took on some consulting work for private firms, and one day, returning home from a trip to the west coast, I found him in my living room. On my couch, just sitting there, staring at his fingers, his hands in his lap.

Then he looked up at me. He had come home.

That terrible day, I got the call that Scully was down. I asked where Mulder was, but no one had seen him since the ambulance had left with her body. He wasn't in his office, and he didn't answer his phone. I was en route to his apartment when my cell phone rang.

It was his friend Frohike. Mulder was at their place, and maybe I should come over. The man's voice was thick, with a touch of panic. I was there in ten minutes.

When I got there, I didn't know who looked worse. Frohike had clearly been crying, and I could smell alcohol on his breath as he let me into the dark apartment. Langly and Byers were sitting very close together on the couch, their hands entwined. They were silent and pale. Their eyes did not meet mine.

"Mulder?" I hoped they knew what I meant because I couldn't seem to formulate a more complex question.

"He's in my bedroom, man. The one on the left." Frohike pointed me towards the smaller of two bedrooms in the place. "Skinner?"

"Yeah?"

"I tried to take his gun, but he wouldn't let me."

I didn't need to hear any more. I stepped over some newspapers and pizza boxes and tried the doorknob. It was locked. I swore under my breath and knocked, my ear to the door listening for sounds from inside.

"Mulder, would you let me in? I need to talk to you." I tried to keep my emotions out of my voice. My fear for him and my grief for Scully fought for attention, but I pushed them back. My mission was to retrieve my agent, in one piece. Another knock. "Mulder?"

Finally, a tight voice came from behind the door. "Sir, I just need to be alone right now." He was quiet for just a moment, and then I heard, "Please?"

God, the man could get to me. I took a deep breath and looked back at Mulder's friends. Frohike's head was down on the table. Langly's face was buried in Byers' shoulder, and Byers just stared back at me like maybe I could fix everything. I just shook my head and turned back to the closed door.

"Mulder, would you please let me in?" I was trying for a soothing voice, but I think my tone belied the tension and sadness of the whole situation. When there was no answer from behind the door, I walked over to where Frohike was sitting. I think he was almost as upset as Mulder, but I couldn't deal with that. Mulder, Mulder had to be my priority.

The man looked up when I stood in front of him. "You must have something to pick that lock."

"Shit, uh," he reached into a plastic crate at his feet. "Here. Sorry."

I just nodded and walked back to the door, knelt down and quickly tricked the cylinder into turning. I opened the door cautiously and walked in to find Mulder sitting on the floor at the foot of a very rumpled bed. I sat down next to him and leaned my head back against the mattress.

"Do I need to take your gun, Mulder?" I managed to keep my voice steady, a bit gruff. To my extreme surprise, he handed his weapon over. After putting the safety on, I tucked it into the back of my pants. I took a breath and looked sideways at him. "I am more sorry than I can express about losing Agent Scully."

I couldn't keep my voice from falling apart a little at the end. He took a long shaky breath and finally spoke. "Sorry. Yeah. Me too." His words sounded like they'd been drawn over sand. Over glass.

"I have to ask this, Mulder. What were you doing in here with the gun?"

He didn't even seem to mind telling me; he spoke almost conversationally. "I had it in my mouth. It's just like sucking a cock, you know, but cold, hard, dead. It's a powerful feeling, sitting there like that, imaging my brains all over poor Melvin's bed. My whole life in the movement of one finger."

I didn't think I could breathe. "What happened?"

He sighed. "The flesh is stronger than the spirit. My body insists on another thirty, forty years. There's nothing I can fucking do."

"I think I like what your body says." He didn't respond, so I stood up, stiffly. "Mulder, I know you don't want to do this, but you're needed at the office so everything can be taken care of, officially. I'm sorry."

I hate saying I'm sorry. I'd never said it so often in my life. I reached a hand down to Mulder, and he took it, let me pull him to his feet. We walked back out into the Gunmen's main room where Mulder evaded the looks his friends were giving him. He muttered, "Thanks guys," undid the multitude of locks, and ducked out the door. I followed.

I drove him to the Hoover and delivered him to the room where OPR and some other higher-ups had gathered to assess and wrap-up the tragedy that was Agent Scully's death. Under my warning glare, they asked Mulder as few questions as possible. He answered in a subdued voice, and when they were finished he let me lead him to my office.

Kim had gone for the day, so we used the outer office area. Mulder slumped on the couch bonelessly for a moment and then leaned forward, playing with his fingers. I sat on Kim's desk, after carefully moving some of her things from that corner.

"You can do whatever you want here. You can keep the X-Files." He snorted in disgust, but I continued. "You can transfer, teach, take leave, whatever you want to do. I will personally make sure it goes through."

He covered his eyes and then stood up abruptly. "No, I... I lied, you know, about the gun."

"You lied?"

"About why I didn't do it." His words were rushing out, past all barriers. "I was going to do it because I thought everyone who I loved, everyone who loved me, was dead."

"What changed you mind, Mulder?"

"You knocked on the door."

All I could think was Oh God, he knew. He knew. I reached my hand out, but he moved away.

"No, see, no, it can't happen because they've taken everyone I've loved. My sister, my father, my mother. *Scully*. I can't let them take you."

My heart hurt for him. He stood a few feet away from me, his movements manic, barely controlled. "Mulder, *they* are dead. They can't hurt you anymore."

He looked up at me, his eyes dark, glittering stones. "I can't afford to believe that. More than that, I can't watch you die. I won't. I'm sorry."

He turned towards the door then and walked out into the hallway. I followed him, calling after him. I caught up to him by the stairs, and he stopped.

"Please, sir. Walter. I have to go. Please understand."

I reached into the back of my pants and pulled out his weapon. Wherever he was going, he'd need protection. I held it out to him on the open palm of my hand. I thought I saw him move to take it, but instead he placed his badge on top of the gun.

Before I could speak, he whispered, "Please don't follow me. Don't look for me." I nodded silently, and he took off down the stairs. The clanging of his rapid descent reverberated through the stairwell, the cacophony echoing through me. He was gone.

When I stepped into my dark apartment, I bit back the expected lines. My surprise: My God, Mulder! My anger: Where the hell have you been Mulder? The wordless joy that threatened to bring me to my knees. Instead I walked into my kitchen and poured two glasses of scotch without turning on the lights.

Stepping silently through my living room, I walked around the couch and sat down next to him. As I sat, I had to close my eyes. I had to give myself a moment to get used to his presence again.

I opened my eyes, and there he was, on my couch in worn jeans and a black turtleneck. I offered him one of the glasses I held, and he took it, swallowing nearly half of the amber liquid in one motion. I didn't like the pinched, thin look of his face or the shadows under his eyes, the exhausted slump of his shoulders, but then his eyes met mine, and it was pure Mulder.

In that moment I couldn't believe I had lasted nearly two years without him. Too many questions were backing up in my throat; I couldn't swallow. Finally, he spoke, breaking the long silence between us.

"It's okay now. They're all gone, I think. Nobody will be after us." His voice sounded stiff as though from disuse. "I've made sure of that."

"What do you mean? Who's gone?"

"The smoking man. Krycek. Diana." The last name held a particular tang of bitterness. "I spent some time up on the Vineyard. At my mom's place--and my dad's. I went through everything, looking for hints, clues, ideas of what to do. I didn't find much. Finally, I took off to find them on my own, and the first one I wanted to find was the smoker.

"Krycek had the same idea. He wasn't too happy with the old boss-man, it seems." He flashed that smirk at me, and my breath caught in my throat. "I, uh, found Krycek at the smoking man's place, going through his things. The old man was already dead. Still sitting in his chair with a bullet hole through his head."

"He was really dead this time?" I asked softly.

"Yeah. Definitely dead." He swallowed audibly. "So is Krycek. I killed him."

"Mulder?"

"I killed him. Scully wasn't there to stop me, so I killed him with his own fucking gun. He won't be hurting you anymore."

I wasn't too...happy to learn he'd done this thing to protect me. "Hurting me, Mulder?"

"Don't even pretend. Please. I know it was him with the nanocytes."

Shit. "I, you didn't have to do that to protect me, Mulder."

He pressed his eyes closed painfully and covered them with his hand. "It's fucking well already done, isn't it?" He paused for a moment while I tried to think of an appropriate response. "Look, I'm sorry. It's not like I didn't want the bastard dead for my own reasons."

"No, Mulder, I'm sorry. I might have done the same thing myself."

"I burned the place. Where the bodies were. There shouldn't be much evidence, and whatever there is will point to Krycek. It's over." He laughed a little, sickly. "It was after that I found Diana."

"What happened with her, Mulder? Did you--"

"I didn't kill her. I couldn't. But I didn't save her either."

"What--"

"I really can't talk about that right now." Suddenly he sounded close to tears, and the dark of the room felt oppressive. "You need to know that I loved her once, but I didn't save her."

I reached out to touch his arm, expecting him to pull away, but he leaned into my hand. "You saved me, Mulder." I winced at how pathetic that sounded, and he just shook his head.

"I don't know. Those things are still inside you. I don't think anyone else can control them, but it's always a possibility."

"You can't drive yourself crazy over possibilities."

"What else is there to do?"

"You can live your own life. Do the best you can."

"That's what I've been trying to figure out how to do. I went back up home. I went to the shore. I stood in the ocean with the enormity of the sea around me, holding me together. I lay on the beach hoping that the sun would remind how to feel the good things. In the end, I realized I just wanted to go home. Not the places where my parents had lived. Home. Not my apartment, which the guys cleaned out for me anyway."

"Where did you go?" I had to ask. His eyes were burning at me through the dim room.

He answered simply and quietly, "I came here."

"Oh God, Mulder. I have missed you." My chest was tight again, my breath coming out in a small sob.

"Can you teach me how to do it?"

"What, miss you?"

"No, how to live. With myself. With...you?"

"I can try. If you'll stay, we can try together."

"I'll stay. I can't run anymore. I'm just so tired."

"You can rest now. Here, it's safe now."

He lowered his face into his hands again, and I moved down to the end of the couch next to him. I put my arms around him and felt his thin, bony shoulders begin to shake beneath me. In the evening chill of my living room, he cried, maybe for the first time since her death. I don't know.

All I know is that I'm going to teach him how to live, even if it takes the rest of our lives.

He's come home.


End file.
